


Wish You Were Here

by 1000PaperCranes



Series: The One Where Coulson is Dead So Clint Will Have to Do [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Cares, Gen, M/M, Not IM3 CA:tWS M:AoS Compliant, Protective Clint, Science Bros, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-03 19:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000PaperCranes/pseuds/1000PaperCranes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I see."</p><p>"You do?"</p><p>"Not really."</p><p>This might take a while.</p><p>FYI: If the tag you want doesn't appear, that just means it hasn't happened YET.  I make no promises, but considering the reviews on Part the First: Go with YET.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Food for Thought

**Author's Note:**

> To Answer All the Reviews: Steve Rogers is a bit of a jerk; he is not intentionally a 'hella-douche-canoe.' And thank you to whomever I picked up that phrase from.
> 
> In Other News: Still not Beta-read. I do my best.
> 
> In Other Other News: Don't own 'em, but if you'd like to pay me? Go for it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody eats, even Clint.

Clint's not sure what happened, but he's pretty sure it's supposed to be the other way around. Actually, that's probably unfair to Tony. The man may have had a reputation as a love 'em and leave 'em type, but he's certainly not the kind of guy to break you're toaster and just leave you hanging. Not that Tony's body is a toaster. It's also not broken. Or at least not much more broken than it was last week, but some of those minor injuries seemed to really hurt. Particularly, the two inch long scratch that had left Tony's whole leg trembling for several minutes after Clint had cleaned it. He knows it's probably all accidental, or at least incidental - you don't bite someone like that by accident - but it's still kind of hard to wrap his head around. Steve is supposed to be the sensitive guy holding it together after a night of potentially ill-advised gay sex. _Tony_ is supposed to be the one with all the calluses in all the wrong places.   Somehow, he's not surprised.

He chews his hamburger slowly, thinking about the genius inventor sleeping it off on his couch. He'd gotten hungry about an hour ago. Tony had woken up when Clint had ceased to be his pillow. The other man hadn't wanted food, and not fully coherent yet, had made a distressed sound when Clint said he was going. He'd hurried to assure Tony that he'd be back, and soon. He'd ignored his stomach in favor of the pitiful creature before him. Leaning on the back of the couch, Clint had run his fingers soothingly through Tony's hair until the brunet was asleep again. He'd come strait here, still puzzling over the uncharacteristic behavior of his friends; Steve's callousness and Tony's vulnerability.

Speaking of which, he is going to run out of 'soon' soon.

He finishes up, throwing a few extra bills on the table and stretching like a cat. He heads back across the street. First things first, deal with battered geniuses.

\--

Tony is still asleep when he returns, but JARVIS gives him a quiet update anyway. When Tony doesn't show any signs of imminent waking, he goes in search of their _other_ resident battered genius. He doesn't explain the situation to Bruce, just says that Tony's had a rough night and asks him to work out of Clint's living room until he gets back.

Which is all fine and dandy, except that now he's left with the hard part and no reason to avoid it. Talking to Steve. He's not even sure he wants to know what the other man was thinking.

Coulson would kill him if he didn't get all the information before making a decision.

Clint tries not to think about the fact that if Thor is successfully sleeping with the pixie-like Jane Foster, then there's no reason for Tony to come out of an encounter with the super-soldier black and blue, while he hunts down their fearless leader.

It's harder than he thinks it should be.

He winds up telling himself that the demigod has had more practice.


	2. Thinkin' in the Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is... a little bit distracted.

Steve is in the kitchen - he spends a lot of time in the kitchen - rummaging for alfalfa sprouts when Clint sneaks up behind him. Okay, he probably wasn't sneaking, _HE JUST HAD THAT CREEPY NINJA ASSASSIN THING GOING ON_. Did the voice in his head have to sound like Bucky? More importantly, did Bucky have to repeat words spoken by _Tony Stark_ all the damn time?

"Hey, Cap," Clint says when Steve turns around - not surprised because he could _smell_ the archer, the man and the clinging almost-scent of Tony's salt-based soap. "Talk to me for a minute."

"What about?" he asks, going for mild and probably hitting feigning-innocence, _CLOSE ENOUGH_.

"Tony." With the smell of the soap and the slightly-less-than-neutral tone to the archers voice; Clint knew. This was going to go so badly.

"Why the silent treatment?" That isn't what Steve expected - _W HAT **WERE** YOU EXPECTING?_ He doesn't know, but he's instantly chafed and on the defensive.

"The first thing he did when he saw me was start talking about some girl he wanted to marry." That had hurt, even if Steve had been hell bent on ignoring the other man anyway.  _B ECAUSE PRETENDING SOMETHING DIDN'T HAPPEN ALWAYS MAKES IT GO AWAY.  WRONG!_

"No, the first thing he did when he saw you was attempt to pour a cup of coffee."

"That's not the point."

"The point _is_ : Tony started talking about that girl to distract me from the giant black chomp-stain on his jugular." It sounds like Clint thinks Steve should be _grateful_ for this, which is ludicrous. Yeah, it's nice that Tony didn't just point and shout: 'Steve did it!' but if he had just kept his damn mouth shut‒

"And it worked, until you walked out of here like Tony killed your cat."

"I don't have a cat." _Y EAH, PLAY CUTE AND STIPID. THAT ALWAYS WORKS._

"Steve! There are hand prints and finger marks all over him." So, maybe Steve _didn't_ know the finer limits of his strength, but Tony had been **_enthusiastic_**. He'd never once shown any indication of discomfort. If he had, Steve would have stopped cold. At least, he thinks he would have.

"Steve, if you don't like the guy enough to be careful, you shouldn't be sleeping with him." _D AMN STRAIGHT._ You know, he'd have thought Bucky would be less on-board with the whole queer buttsex thing. _P UNK._

Clint is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~In a Disappointing Turn of Events: My formatting for Thought!Bucky isn't supported here. I had him in small caps and italics. Now he's bold. I'll do my best to keep him from getting confused with simple emphasis. If anybody knows how I can add another format, I'm all ears.~~  
>   
> 
> Awesome Turn of Events: AnonEhouse gave me a giant list of HTML codes (and where to find them) because knowledge and resources. Boo-Yah! Thought!Bucky is as he should be.
> 
> Not So Awesome Events: Coding Thought!Bucky is time consuming and makes my eyes hurt. Damn you HTML.  
> Also, it occurs to me that bold might be _less_ confusing. Damn me for not caring.


	3. Comfort Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why JARVIS taught DUM-E to use the blender.

It feels like it's been a long time since he left, when Clint returns. Tony is still asleep on the couch. Bruce meets him by the door, pressing an empty glass of milk into his hand. The message is clear, that was all Tony would take. Well, it was a start. Still, he was going to try upgrading to a smoothie next. What had Coulson said? _'Salt and sweetness; cure any sickness.'_ That sounded like it. Sorta. Tony wasn't sick, but heartache was still pretty crummy.

There is something he's forgetting. Crummy, sick, sweet, smoothie - he has pineapple and a couple of peaches - milk, Tony, BRUCE! He forgot about Bruce.

Bruce is giving him a look that says he's been staring at the milk-stained drinking glass _way_ too long. Clint smiles sheepishly. It's been a long day, and it's only half over. The older man's face shifts to 'I didn't ask' and 'my best friend is a trouble magnet' followed closely by 'you know where to find me.' And then he's gone, out the door and likely back into the depths of his own lab.

Bruce is a good friend. He's glad Tony has him. Hell, he's glad Clint has him.

Tony's face is relaxed in sleep. He looks younger, like someone who needs Clint's protection. ' _No man is an island_.' He wishes Coulson were here to smack him. Of course Tony is vulnerable. He and Clint are cut from the same cloth, both trying so hard and getting it so wrong. And Clint is plenty vulnerable, especially when his keepers are away.

It hits him like Wile E Coyote's anvil. Tony doesn't have keepers. Pepper is gone, Happy is with her, and Rhodes is unreliable. Every other milestone personality in Tony's life is either dead or homicidal. In fact, Tony's most stable relationship is with JARVIS. The bots come in a close second, but with Tony in the role of brother-parent DUM-E, U, and Butterfingers can't exactly be called keepers, even if they do try.

Clint cubes pineapple, slices peaches, and empties an entire container of Greek yoghurt into the blender. He rummages in the refrigerator looking for something that contains both high value calories and sugar. Instead, he discovers a handful of overripe strawberries and, because they go together, figures out that peanut butter will work.

Smoothie assembled but for the ice, Clint screws the cap on and shoves the whole thing in the 'fridge. He really digs his blender. Darcy gifted it to him after it spent six weeks in one of SHEILD's major impound facilities. Major impound meaning they took fucking _everything_ and ran. He's pretty sure she gave Coulson a box containing a small arsenal of vibrators, claiming they were contaminated. The blender is the first Stark Industries model to come with the blades in the lid. It's extremely convenient; easier to clean, doesn't get into fights with his spoon.

Clint thinks about how far Tony has come since the Merchant of Death. Although, this model is from before. It's another way they're alike. To have come so far. Missing all the good in themselves simply because nobody ever took six second to tell them better was an option.

In the living room, Clint swings the armchair around - Bruce had moved it; next to the coffee table with a teacup in easy reach and turned back-to so he was facing Tony - settling down with his feet on the coffee table and the couch within arm's reach. He considers the sleeping man and decides to keep the silence. Quietly, almost sub-vocally, he asks JARVIS to queue up the videos where he had left off; no sound.

Clint usually watched these late at night with the sound turned off. He did it for any number of reasons, pretty much all them boiling down to solace. This whole day needed solace. He almost always had JARVIS cancel the sound, so much so that when he forgot the AI would clarify - damn, Tony was brilliant - because the sound of Coulson's voice just tore him up. _God, he missed Phil._ Seeing him though, watching the memories play out on the screen, that had started the first night and continued on indefinitely. It's no longer a part of the mourning, it is part of the healing; honoring Coulson because he _would not forget_.

This video is from somewhere in his second week as a baby agent. Coulson hadn't killed him, and as punishment, had been made to train Clint all on his lonesome. It had backfired in SHIELD's face in a rather spectacular fashion, if Clint did say so himself, and he did. Well, Fury was crazy _and_ smart _and_ crazy-smart, so he might have seen it coming. The bond that developed between Clint Barton and Phil Coulson was nuclear-level stuff. Legendary. Epic. Thor would sing an ode to them if he knew.

On the screen, Clint - younger and wilder, if you can believe that - handed Coulson another cookie produced from the depths of his SHIELD issue fatigues. With his other hand, he was stashing ammo in his underpants. He hadn't fooled Coulson for a second, he'd thought he had, but he hadn't. Now, years later, he watches Coulson's blank face flicker slightly in the way that meant he was fighting back hysterical laughter. Baby Agent Clint had wanted his bow and thought that if he disappeared enough bullets they would be forced to use the analogue weapon for his target practice. Baby Agent Clint had severely underestimated both Coulson's cunning and SHIELD's supply of ammunition.

Hours pass before Tony so much as moves. Clint goes to the kitchen. He adds the ice to Tony's smoothie and blends it to sweet orange perfection. He trades the blade-top for a snap-on drink-top. On the couch, Tony has pulled himself up to recline against the armrest. He's staring out the window, oblivious to the flickering images on the television. Clint spares it a quick glance. He knows that one - he knows them all - Coulson is _thrashing_ him in jujitsu.

Clint silently hands Tony the cup, sitting back down in the armchair. The inventor takes a sip automatically. Clint is almost surprised, but then Tony does it again, and again, at regular intervals and Clint supposes that when presented with food even the bodies of genius billionaires know what to do when they're hungry, brain not required. He'll have to remember that.

Clint keeps one eye on his battered genius and his face on the TV until the smoothie is gone.

Tony goes back to sleep.

Clint does the dishes.


	4. MRE's for Robots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing the obligatory addition to the Tony Stark Builds Himself Some Friends menagerie, if Scifigrl47 will have her.

Late that night, Clint leaves Tony again. There's a note on the outer door and a message with JARVIS, nothing special just that he's got something to take care of and that he'll be back by morning. He spreads a thin afghan over Tony, just in case, and leaves a pillow on the coffee table. The Coulson Files play on.

In the hall, he shakes off the glazed feeling hours of sitting gives him. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, Agent?"

"Who's on Tony's floor?" Tony's floor has become the default communal floor. The epoxy filled Loki-print is Clint's favorite part, but that isn't where he's headed.

"No one, Agent."

"Good." Clint takes the elevator up. "Will you let me into Tony's room, please?" Asking politely got you most places with JARVIS, but Tony's bedroom isn't necessarily one of those places.

"As Mister Stark is on your floor, I fail to see what you require there."

"A change of clothes, for one thing." What Clint really wants is to get a look at the aftermath of whatever went on between Steve and Tony. And to erase whatever reminders he can.

"Ah, of course." By the sound of things, he isn't fooling JARVIS for a second. Oh well, if they both wanted to be sneaky, who was he to argue?

When he arrives, in the dark, JARVIS opens the door for him. Clint closes it. "Lights at 70 percent, please, JARVIS." The room doesn't look like anything in particular. The bed is unmade. A set of Tony's clothes is strewn about the floor. Lube? Check. But no evidence of condoms. Right, safe sex lecture for the both of them. And probably Thor. Given by Bruce. That is not his job. A towel is trailing out of the closet.

In the bathroom, things are a little bit more disturbed. Clint has been in both rooms before, briefly, when the common bathroom was in use. Generally, the bathroom is pretty pristine. He looks more carefully at the dried up remains of Tony's morning, keeping an eye out for the little bot that cleaned the place. Tony's aftershave is smashed on the floor, a spray of blue glass where it fell. The sink is covered in Tony's stubble and the remains of his signature goatee. The razor and a small towel are discarded on the floor. A bar of purple soap lays in the bottom of the shower.

And still no sign of Bubbles.

He picks up the towels and other dirty laundry. JARVIS directs him to the laundry chute. The stale smell of sex clouds around him when he strips the bed, and he's familiar enough with the participants to smell both Stark and Rogers distinctly. "Hey, JARVIS, can you circulate some fresh air in here?" Somewhere, a quiet fan switches on. He walks into the closet and JACKPOT! fresh linens stacked above Tony's two dozen pairs of shoes.

Clint finally finds Bubbles. She's turtled in the obscured near-corner of the shower. "There you are, girl." He sets her right-side-up and pats her square, white shell. Tony must have kicked her, for her to have ended up like that. She trundles across the tiles and makes a forlorn little whistle at the bar of soap. It's almost as big as she is. Clint picks it up.

Bubbles makes a multitude of tiny sounds while she cleans. Clint isn't sure if it's speech of some sort, but he talks to her anyway. "Yeah, Tony made a real mess in here this morning, didn't he." He sweeps up most of the glass, throws out the razor, and opens a new one. "You know where this goes, right?"

"Left tap," JARVIS supplies. Oh. Right. JARVIS would know.

"JARVIS," Clint starts hesitantly, the answer to this question could be Very Bad. "Tony didn't kick Bubbles on purpose, did he?"

"I do not believe Mister Stark recognized Bubbles at all."

"And the aftershave?"

"Also, an accident."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Agent." Good. Well… Tony must have been in pretty bad shape to not even register contact with one of his bots. And he hadn't talked to JARVIS all day, at least not that Clint had heard, and Tony talked to JARVIS like he breathed. _'Time heals most wounds.'_ He missed Coulson so badly. Clint really wasn't cut out for this.


	5. Scientist Under Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hulk watches Bruce watch Clint watch Tony.

"What happened?" Bruce asks Clint, stepping up beside the archer. They're watching Tony through the glass. The lab is locked.

"Steve." Hawkeye's voice is flat. Factual.

" _Really_?"

"There was rough sex; that's all I know." Clint doesn't look at Bruce. Hasn't yet. Might not.

That's alright. Bruce has enough of his attention. "They were doing pretty well." And they had been. Well past 'Put on the suit.' Then 'Thanks for inviting me.' Onto 'Beer's in the fridge.' Steve is one of the few people who _actually_ like the stuff for its taste. Surprisingly, so is Tony.

" **Major setback**." Understatement. Tony hasn't locked the lab in months.

"What do we do?" Bruce will try anything for Tony. Unless it's stupid ‒ the bad kind.

"Nothing. We support him and do nothing." That doesn't feel right. But is a relief. Bruce isn't good with people. Or animals. Or plants.

"What about Steve?"

"What _about_ Steve? Nothing; or the same thing. Anything else is up to Tony." Right. Up to Tony.

Hulk shifts. He doesn't want to leave it up to Tony. The billionaire is too vulnerable. Soft. Tiny. _Important_.

"They didn't use condoms." Non-sequitur. And bad.

"Tony knows better." Hulk _rolls_. Bruce isn't sure what that means.

"You would think." Hawkeye's voice is somewhere between flat and unimpressed. A little strong on 'think.' Bruce does stupid things sometimes, too. Hulk laughs. It feels like the sound in that dragon movie.

"I can talk to him."

"I was hoping you'd talk to both of them." A pause. "And Thor." Clint's gaze flickers to Bruce and away.

Right. This is what he gets for moonlighting as a physician. In third world countries. What are these people thinking? Hulk rolls again. "I think I can manage that."

Hulk hunkers down in a grumbly kind of way. Hulk very obviously does not care about safer-sex lectures. Or that Bruce has to give three of them. Because together? Very bad. Awkward. Very Awkward. Hulk is watching Tony. Bruce refocuses on his friend.

"He's doing better today."

"Probably." No frame of reference.

"Is he at least talking to JARIVS?" Tony's mouth is always moving. Is right now. Doesn't mean he's communicating.

"Not where I can hear it." Bad. Worse than Bad. Hulk is very still. Watching. Bruce will watch until something changes. He and Clint stand silently side by side. Like a couple of sentinels.


	6. The Peanut Gallery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mug is a sure sign that things get better.

Clint sighs. He has session; he has to leave. Clint isn't ready to be so far away from a teammate when he's so vulnerable, but Clint can't allow himself to become vulnerable in Tony's wake. That would only make things so much worse. Besides, these guys are great, maybe he'll learn something to help Tony. He pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up and slips out of the tower, shoving his hands into the pocket.

After the Chitauri, SHEILD had been a real disaster. The loss of life had been significant, unusually large given that they tended to work in very small groups, but certainly not even close to enough to warrant that kind of chaos. Clint and Natasha had been relocated to Steve's apartment in the old Brook-Lyne Gym next to the cemetery. The place had been creepy, and Clint ‒ limited to a five mile radius pending evaluation ‒ had wandered as far as he could at all hours of the day and night. The only reason Clint had had such a huge radius is because it allowed him to go from Steve's place by the Navy Yard to the battlegrounds. Clint had been relieved when Steve suggested they all help with the clean up, but he's pretty sure that was after someone ‒ and Clint's going with Pepper Potts ‒ had arranged for him to have the extended leash. It took about two days before Clint had started showing up in Manhattan all on his own.

Three weeks in he had bumped into Tony for the first time after the Invasion. Or rather, he slammed bodily into Iron Man when an earthquake registering a magnitude of about 2.7 on the Richter scale had jiggled Clint off of the radio tower he had been scaling. Of course, this means that the people on the ground never felt a thing. While Clint had struggled to breathe after the impact, Tony had secured the repeater, mumbling to JARVIS about suicidal tendencies. Clint had tried to defend himself, and his sanity, but Stark countered him at every point. Climbing that high without a rope is asking for it, and Clint had known it; he just hadn't cared anymore. Instead of dropping Clint off again, Iron Man had made a jaunty quip about badly timed construction blasting and whisked Clint away to the tower.

War Machine had been waiting for them on the helipad with a steaming cup and a soft smile. Clint had not expected some stuffy Lieutenant Colonel to be so handsome. That thought, on top of the adrenaline crash, had actually made him cry. It had felt like such a betrayal at the time, to think of someone else as attractive, and not in a particularly objective manner.

_Tony reached up with both hands, gently wiping Clint's tears away with his thumbs and fingertips. He murmured, "Much better," and other little words of encouragement as Hawkeye tried to get a grip on his heart._

_"You know," Rhodes hadn't come any closer, but his voice arrived on the wind at the perfect volume anyway, "I couldn't do that with the gauntlets on. I'd crush his face." Clint laughed wetly. He was actually rather enjoying the cool metal on his burning cheeks._

_Rhodes took that as his cue, and walked over to present the mug cradled in his flesh and bone hands. Clint accepted the drink from the dark man without his usual suspicious investigation. Right then, he was content to trust Tony and Tony was trusting this guy. Clint sipped at the dark liquid. The tea was hot and sweet, not as good as Coulson would have made because Coulson would have mad **coffee** , but comforting all the same._

In a haze that he doesn't really remember, Clint had been bundled inside and ensconced on what would become his floor of the tower. At some point Hawkeye had drummed himself up and into a scalding shower. When he'd emerged, Tony had been waiting for him with a change of clothes. Clint didn't notice what he was putting on at the time, but he still has the whole lot, and man does not make a more comfortable pair of boxer briefs. Tony had been pretty quite then too, so hopefully there's hope for him now.

Wow English, go Clint. Coulson was laughing in his grave right now, rolling over and kicking his feet on the lid of the coffin. Hopefully there's hope; jeeze, Natasha wouldn't say something that vocabularically challenged. And, he's pretty sure that's not even a word. Coulson-Post-Mortem is wheezing now, twitching spasmodically. He's dead, though, so his face isn't wine-red and there aren't tears running down it. At least, not until Clint thought that. On the flip side, Coulson-Post-Mortem is starting to resemble one of those increasingly creative zombies from that game. ' _Ducks. In a row._ ' Yeah, Clint has completely lost control of this train of thought.

Clint stops in the doorway of the closed coffee shop they use for the Critical Incident Stress Debriefings. Although it's probably been way too long to keep calling them that, it keeps Clint from feeling like he's going to _counseling_ or a _support group_. He figures the other guys feel the same way. Clint lets himself in, thinking of the first time he'd come here.

Things had still been pretty battered, and Clint's pretty sure that this location was chosen simply because it still had four walls and a roof, and it wasn't currently occupied by the recovery. It opened every morning and _caffeinated_ the recovery, but it wasn't occupied by it. Well, unless you counted what they chose it for.

_"This is the place." Tony stopped in front of Manhattan Morning._

_"Are you sure, man?" Rhodes asked, eyeing the storefront dubiously._

_"Sure I'm sure." Tony flapped his hand at the Colonel. "Try the door." Rhodes face said 'Tony's cracked' but he shrugged and reached for the handle, expression changing to 'Weirder things have happened'. Clint was only faintly surprised when the door swung in easily. Stark may be eccentric, but he's not stupid. "I'm just gonna wait here; this is not the kind of pot I want to stir."_

_Clint was kind of annoyed, Stark was going to drag him here and then skip out on the hard part? Self-important bastard. He followed Rhodes into the vestibule. The place smelled warm, like someone had put a pot on recently. Rhodes waited for his nod before opening the inner door. An old bell announced their intrusion._

_"Shop's closed!" came a voice from behind the counter._

_"We know. My friend is supposed to join the debriefing." A man straigtened up and scrutinized them for a second._

_"Do I know you, lad?" The man said to Rhodes._

_"No, sir."_

_"Well, how'd you know we're here?"_

_"Deputy Chief Barone told us where to find you." The man nodded to himself at length, wiping his hands on a rag. A young woman, Clint guessed she was in her twenties, came around behind the counter. She nodded to the man and flicked a quick salute at Rhodes. "We ready, Gen? Well, you boys follow me."_

_"Here," the woman handed Clint a mug. "Sugar?" Clint didn't think he responded, but she poured a generous sweetening into the cup. He looked at Rhodes, who shrugged and propelled him along into the meeting._

Clint shakes off the drizzle, hanging his sweatshirt on a brass hook. Gen, Genevieve, is long gone, so Clint collects a sugar tumbler and heads past the bar. It really had been a good thing that Tony had waited for them outside ‒ for hours ‒ because Gen hadn't been the only one to recognize Rhodes, or at least his military bearing. His appearance had garnered several more salutes and a few handshakes. It was just enough of a distraction to cover Clint's entrance, not that anyone was going to make him say something stupid like: "Hi, I'm Hawkeye, and I'm a shoot-a-holic." If Tony had been there, they would have been a sideshow attraction. Rhodes had stayed with Clint the whole time, politely attentive to the stories told and asking the kind of questions indicative of someone who'd done this a few too many times.

_They left as quickly as Clint could hustle them out the door. That meeting was **heavy** and he really didn't want to talk or be 'War Machine's Friend' or be recognized. Or cry in front of strangers. Tony fell into step with Rhodes like they always just appeared at each other's elbows without greeting._

_"It's a good fit."_

_"Thought so. Coffee smells good; can I have some?" Tony indicated the mug that Clint had inadvertently stolen in his rush to escape. He shoved the mug at Tony, unable to cover his embarrassment in a more refined manner. "Thanks." Tony lapsed into conversation with Rhodes. Clint sniffled, tuning them out. He'd have to return the damn cup next time. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. It wouldn't be so bad; the people crowded into Manhattan Morning that evening had been…_

**_'It takes all kinds.'_ ** _Yeah, all kinds._

This particular group of men is a mix of EMTs, Fire Fighters, and Police Officers from Tudor City. They're a good fit for Clint. Some seriously weird stuff goes down near the United Nations with all the foreign nationals, politicians, tourists, and diplomatic immunity running amok over there. There had been more people when Clint first came, but as they healed they went back to their duties. The women had been the first to talk and the first to stop coming. Figures. Kind of goes to show that men really were emotionally constipated. There are only eight of them left now.

They deserved to be the last ones, though. As Clint looks around, he appreciates again that people here don't make the 'I'm glad it wasn't me' face or the 'better you than me' face. Right now he sees many versions of sympathetic pain, some tears, and one 'I wish my dog were here'. He's been listening to Silas, but had to distract himself a little when a wave of emotion rolled over him, because he's been there, almost. Silas had held a baby as it screamed and died. He sounded hollow and stunned, as if it had happened yesterday and not months ago.

It was the first time Silas, always on Clint's left, had shared something about the invasion. Compelled somewhere deep within his gut, Clint spoke up. "I once encountered a field of decapitated babies." This is not one-upmanship. "It was disturbing enough on its own; I can't imagine if I'd had to watch one of them die." They're all stunned, staring at him. It's not that Clint never talks ‒ although like Silas he doesn't say much ‒ it's just that, he suddenly realizes, to everyone but the two of them, what he said sounds so much worse.

Clint's gotten pretty good at setting aside the gore and the waste after this many years with SHIELD, and the years before that. He knows how much it means to have somebody else know how bad it is and, even more, to see that person walking around and functional. The others don't need to understand; he knows that. He learned it hard, and he learned it well. For the next six seconds, all he cares about is that Silas _knows_. Knows that that kind of hurt is survivable.

Their eyes meet and Clint gets a shaky smile. Good. It's his turn to talk; Silas clearly can't take any more attention right now. Clint had known that when he spoke up, and the others are still staring like he's about to turn inside out. _'Use your resources.'_ Coulson's voice echoes in his head, contrasting strangely with the silence.

"I…" Clint starts, "I'm ready to talk about what happened, because I know how to deal with a lot of things, but not that. Except…" He sees the shock falling off their faces, the gears switching. "I need to ask you guys for some help." Everyone around the circle is looking very attentively at him. "I'm coping, mostly, but my friends? I think they might be in trouble."

Don, the Chief ‒ although Clint's not sure what Don is chief of other than these sessions ‒ nods seriously. "We'll do whatever we can to help your friends, son." Clint's finally gotten to the point where he doesn't try to analyze what these men think about him. He doesn't feel the need to wonder if they think his friends are a euphemism or if they think he's stalling or wasting their time. The time for that is long past.

Clint sighs, but makes himself start talking. It is simultaneously harder and easier than he thought. "They…" he stops, this really starts before Steve slept with Tony. "One of them should probably be going to one of these things. He's a soldier, lost his best friend about a year ago. Now that he's home, I don't think he really knows what to do with himself. Anyway, he seemed to be doing better, you know? Getting close to my other friend, and then one night they slept together. When I saw them in the morning everything had gone to hell in a hand basket. I didn't mean to take sides, but I did, and now I don't know what to do."

Clint pauses and Andre the policeman says, "This is two guys right? You're gonna have to give them names or everybody's gonna get confused, including you." Clint momentarily panics. He _can't_ tell them Steve and Tony's names, they'd know instantly who he was talking about. Andre must have seen his dilemma. "Doesn't have to be their real names, just names so we can keep track. We like to use initials. That's a bit awkward if you're not used to it. You could just assign them names that begin with the same letter."

Clint is pretty sure that S and T names would still be too obvious but he isn't an internationally renowned secret agent for nothing. He grabs their middle initials instead. "Alright, the soldier is George and my other friend is Evan, well for the purpose of talking about them behind their backs anyway."

"'S not like that, son," Don tells him firmly. "You want to help them and so do we." Clint has the funny feeling Don, and probably half of the other men here, still wouldn't need half a thought to guess who he's talking about, if they were so inclined. Clint's also pretty sure they're not.

"Alright," Clint begins again. "So, George and Evan slept together and in the morning Evan has bruises and George refuses to speak to or about him. When he bails out of the kitchen, I check Evan over and he's not injured, but he's really upset. He's still upset and it's been days. I can't talk to George without getting mad at him. And I don't know how to help Evan who isn't talking to anyone, not even his best friends, uh… we'll call them Brian and Joseph, just in case."

"That's good, but Clint you need to tell us why you're worried. Not that you're friends falling out isn't worrying." Andre is the only cop left in the group, and he's awfully good at cutting to the chase.

"I'm worried that George is so badly damaged after everything that happened to him that he's going to continue to hurt people, or himself. And I'm worried that if I don't find a way to get through to Evan he'll fall back into old vices and shut everyone out permanently, which could kill him. And if something happens to Evan, Brian is going to bolt and Joseph might go completely crazy. I mean, Joseph's been there for Even through all kinds of shit, but all of a sudden he won't talk to the guy? It scares me. And after everything _I've_ been through, I'm not sure if I'm protecting him or smothering him. I just— I don't know what to do." Clint looks up and everybody is still watching him, still attentive and considerate. He kind of loves it here. No pressure, no hype, no punishments.

It's Carlo, on Don's left, who speaks this time. "It seems like you're more concerned about Evan right now, so let's deal with that first." Clint finds that he is remarkably unguarded in these dimly lit meetings and his worry about that not being fair to Steve must show on his face. "Always trust your gut, man. Wildfire guys runnin' around sniffing the air might look crazy, but if your gut says they know what they're doing, you're about to find out that hot-spots smell hot." All Clint can think is: What-now?

Franklin, the EMT between Don and Andre, waves his hand dismissively. "What he's trying to say is that there's no use second guessing yourself when you have no other information to go on. You think Evan is in more immediate danger, then he is. Simple as that."

"Besides, it sounds like you think George needs more than time and attention, which is all you're equipped to give him." Don always sounds so perfectly reasonable when he's telling one of them they're being stupid. It's actually kind of nice to be on the receiving end.

And there is no way in hell Clint is analyzing that thought. So, of course, he says it out loud. Everyone's laughing. It's the good natured laugh of people who understand and Clint feels his worry shrink down to a manageable size. They'll help him through this. Help Clint help Tony and Steve.

He has to believe that.


End file.
